We are searching for something, you and me.
Could be found in the brief archive of human forgiveness within the heart of a democratic republic made to look slightly impotent for a couple of seconds of precious global socioeconomic relations in the seventies splash colorscheme of an cold war era soviet international airport metropolis. Could be bled out of some lock and jaw campaign. Remain silent as long and far as possible, except when filling out asylum request cover letters which require embellishment in a video age for the global youtube market consumers to know you, by seeing.
Searching makes us feel alive. Still breathing.
Gives us a place to hang our hopes, our judgments on. Popcorn strands of accusations upon. Unrealistic unfulfilled praises on. Allows for our glorious monetary pools of purchased media frenzy. Intellectual circlejerks of spy vs spy classifications. Debunking and declassifying, when classifying fails to reach the widest audience. Taking some heat off Israel and Syria. Taking the edge off of Putin's own curious enterprise. Room to breathe for Kim Jong Il, Jr and Dennis Rodman. And Iran. And Saudi Princes and Princesses who knock down iconography of first world countries and/or hold their maids hostage within the recreation of antiquated slave trade triangulation.
And room to breathe for you. And me.
